Sealed with a Diss (11 page)

Massie deleted that sentence mid-thought. It was the only way she could keep
her
name from ending it. After all, this was about Chris and Skye. There would be plenty of opportunities for Chris to fall in love with her once the room belonged to the Pretty Committee. Besides, she needed this time to contemplate her true feelings for Derrington. As of late, his maturity and loyalty were in question. But to be fair, he was a HART, at least as far as seventh-graders went, and she didn’t want to give him up until she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t regret it.

“Wanna help me work on my karaoke glasses? They’re almost done.” Layne pulled a metal cookie sheet out from under her bed. An assortment of screws, wires, batteries, computer chips, and tweezers were spread out upon it. A pair of old-school black Ray-Ban Wayfarers lay in the center.

“All we have to do is build a Starscroll-size projector and attach it to one of the arms. If my theory is correct, the dark plastic will act like a screen, and the words of songs will scroll across it. Meaning, karaoke! Anywhere. Anytime. No wires, no bulky TV screens. No hassle.” She bowed, anticipating applause.

“Is your brother home?”

Layne nodded yes, then lifted her head.

“It’s time.”

“What’s your plan?” Layne asked, sliding the cookie sheet back under her bed.

“I figured a good pep talk and a fun afternoon with me would be enough to get him off his girl-fast.”

“That’s
it
?” Layne’s narrow hazel eyes widened.

“Yeah. How hard can it be?”

“O-kay.” Layne snickered in a don’t-say-I-didn’t-warn-you sort of way and then flicked off the lights. “Follow me.”

Massie pinched her cheeks for a quick burst of color, then repositioned her glossy hair across her right eye. She knew it was slightly wrong to fuss over her looks when she was there to promote Skye. But she still had to hold Chris’s attention. And that meant leaving Ugly Betty on ABC, where she belonged.

The upstairs hallway outside Chris’s room smelled like Thanksgiving dinner—warm, tangy, and dusted with cinnamon. Oriental rugs cut the center of the mocha wood floor, while lofty totem poles and Egyptian sarcophagi occupied the corners. It was the kind of creepy, eclectic clutter one would expect to find in Lara Croft’s basement, and the total opposite of Derrington’s modern glass cube of a house—which reeked of Lemon Pledge and had a fragile-don’t-touch vibe.

Massie decided she liked the feel of Chris’s house better. It seemed more welcoming. Passionate. Alive. But still… Her heart pounded, and she would have traded her new red, white, and blue Juicy inflatable beach tote for a sip of chilled Evian.

“Code red!” Layne banged, paying no mind to the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign from the Marriott’s Timber Lodge time-share in Lake Tahoe, California.

“What?” Chris called, his voice muffled.

“Um…” Layne looked at Massie, her hazel eyes flooded with panic. “Uh—”

“Tell him there’s a special girl here to see him,” Massie whisper-suggested.

“I can’t do
that
,” Layne whisper-shouted back. “What if he thinks its Fawn?”

“Then he’ll open the door.” Massie rolled her eyes, silently accusing Layne of being an amateur.

Layne inhaled deeply, then did as she was told.

Seconds later, Chris was standing in the doorway, feet bare, Diesel jeans ripped at the knees, and a worn gray Harvard sweatshirt hanging off his fit frame. His hair was a little top-heavy and in need of a trim, and he was squinting, like he had woken up and was adjusting to the light.

Even depressed-dressed, he was a nine.

“Oh,” he said to his visitors, sounding disappointed. “Hey.”

“Surprise!” Massie pushed past him, slamming the door in Layne’s face.

“Hey, what gives?”

Massie flipped the lock, ignoring Layne’s incessant banging.

“So, uh, how ya doing?” Massie asked, her voice suddenly forced and hollow, like it was coming from a bad actor in a school play.

“Been better.” Chris picked his black electric guitar up off the floor and sat on the edge of his unmade bed. He didn’t seem to wonder why she was there. Nor did he seem to care.

Unsure of where to stand now that they were alone, Massie stuck close to the door and leaned against his bare navy-blue wall. She slid her hands behind the small of her back and angled her face left, showing off her better side. “So, how funny was it running into you at Galwaugh?” she tried.

He fell back onto his bed. The light blue throw pillows shook from the sudden impact. Massie wondered how a girl named Fawn could turn such a hot prep-school rebel into such a sad sack. What powers did she have? What was her secret? Massie wondered if she’d be that intoxicating after a few more visits to ESP. The mere thought of it motivated her to push harder.

“Remember that blond girl I was with?”

He plucked a few chords, which Massie took as a yes.

“Well, she’s the best dancer in our entire school. Not to mention the prettiest girl in the eighth, soon to be ninth, grade.” Massie paused. “She was pretty, don’tcha think?”

Chris bobbed his head. Was he was agreeing with her or simply feeling the music? It was impossible to tell.

“What was her name again?”

Breakthrough!

“Skye,” Massie offered. “Her name is Skye Hamilton.”

“That’s right.” He grinned. “I knew it was something like that.”

“So you’ve been
thinking
about her?” Massie’s blood pumped faster, like it did when she knew her dad was about to give in to one of her demands.

“I guess.” He strummed.

Yes!

“What have you been thinking?” Chris looked up, dark blue eyes gripping her like a sapphire-colored force field. “I’ve been thinking she has one of those nature names.”

“I know.” Massie beamed. “Isn’t it—”

“
Fawn
is a nature name.” He lowered his head again and plucked B-minor.

“Oh.” She scanned the ill-decorated room for something reflective so she could run a quick check on her appearance.

Maybe her long bangs had been finger-swept too far right. Or maybe her gloss had faded or her cheeks had dimmed. And maybe if she could swing a quick touch-up, things would go smoother.

But all she saw was a black Formica dresser lined with mini cologne bottles, a glass-topped desk covered in pencil sketches of the some long-haired girl with devil horns and blacked-out teeth, and an old Dell laptop. The far wall by the window was dotted with crooked snapshots of his boarding-school friends, pictures of Tricky, and a thin white shelf stocked with gold riding trophies and first-place ribbons. Not a single mirror in sight. Unless…

The maroon T-shirt Scotch-taped to an oval frame was definitely a mirror. It
had
to be. And Massie was desperate for a peek.

There had to be
some
explanation for his lack of interest in their conversation. After all, no guy as hawt as Chris Abeley could possibly be
this
depressed over a girl.
Could
he? Another excited tingle zipped through her body. After a year of ESP, she would never have to ask herself these ah-nnoying boy questions again—she would already know all the answers.

“Oh,” Massie chirped with exaggerated curiosity. “What’s under here?” She pinched the bottom of the shirt, cocked her head, and lifted it—

“Stop!” Chris cast his guitar aside, creating a hollow off-key twang when it met the wood floor.

Massie quickly released her grip. The shirt swung back into place.

“What
is
it?”

“A mirror.” He raced over, making doubly sure the shirt was back in place. “Well, it
was
. I covered it.”

“Why?”

“When I look at myself, I see—” His voice caught, then drifted.

“What?” Massie made extreme eye contact. Chris met her gaze and held it again. And just like that, her pupils begged for mercy. As if his hawtness exuded rays more damaging than the Caribbean sun. “Tell me what you see,” she managed.

“
Her.
I see
her.
” He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

Massie sighed in a poor-little-thing sort of way and rested a hand on his curved spine.

Chris grinned, trying to force happiness that wouldn’t come. It became clear that his indifference to Massie went far beyond over-parted bangs and matte lips. He was a true romantic who was truly heartbroken. Which was both ah-dorable and ah-nnoying at the same time.

“Have you tried listening to music?” Massie suggested. “That always cheers me up. Sometimes the words can be very uplifting.”

Chris shuffled to the other side of his room, resting his lacrosse-toned butt on the corner of his glass (IKEA?) desk. He folded his arms across his chest and mumbled, “Open the closet.”

Massie took apprehensive steps toward the narrow white door to the right of his bed. She placed her hand on the plastic, made-to-look-like-crystal knob, and then glanced back, letting Chris know she was about to turn it.

He shrugged in a knock-yourself-out sort of way.

So she did.

“Ehmagawd,” she gasped. “You have so many A&F henleys in here. Why don’t you wear them anymore? They’re so ah-dorable.” She ran her fingers along the spring-scented, Bounce-softened sleeves.

“They remind me of—”

Massie turned to face him. “Why? Did she buy them for you?” Chris shook his head no. “But I wore them sometimes when we were hanging out.”

“Oh.” Massie tried her best to sound sympathetic. The truth was, if Chris’s eyes weren’t so navy and his hair wasn’t so shaggy and his teeth weren’t so white, she might have used the tough-love approach. A get-over-it speech followed by a snap-out-of-it slap. But his magnetic hawtness made doing anything but staring impossible.

“What does your closet have to do with music?”

“Look closer.”

“Oh.”

Surrounding the henleys, below the shelf crowded with a weathered lacrosse stick, beat-up cleats, old comics, and obsolete Game Boys, the inside walls were covered in music lyrics. They had been written in red marker, mostly on a sloping diagonal, in thin all-caps.

ON MY KNEES I’LL ASK,
LAST CHANCE FOR ONE LAST DANCE.
—NICKELBACK, “FAR AWAY”

HOW COULD WE QUIT SOMETHING
WE NEVER EVEN TRIED?
—NICK LACHEY, “I CAN’T HATE YOU ANYMORE”

SO DONE WITH WISHING SHE WAS STILL HERE.

—NE-YO, “SO SICK”

Massie turned away in horror.

“You should paint over those ay-sap. They’re not healthy.”

Chris half-laughed, like it finally registered that she was there.

“How ’bout something more positive, like, ‘In letting you go, I’m loving myself.’”

She paused so her words of wisdom could penetrate. But Chris’s head continued to hang.

“It’s JoJo. ‘Too Little Too Late.’”

“I
know
who it is.” His smile faded. “That was
her
favorite song.”

Massie felt a rush of heat flare up inside her entire body. How could she have been so stupid? But then again, how was she supposed to know Fawn was a JoJo fan?

All hawtness aside, it was time for the direct approach. “Maybe if you found a new girlfriend, you’d forget all about—”

Chris lifted his eyes. “Have anyone in mind?” He grinned, suspecting she was referring to herself.

Massie blushed. “Um, how about someone like Skye Hamilton?” she answered, keeping her mission in mind.

“Skye Hamilton, huh?” He grinned suspiciously.

“Yeah, why not? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

Massie held her breath, terrified of his response.

He shrugged.

She exhaled.

“Because I bet you could get her. In fact—”

Chris stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and shuffled to his shelf of awards. “What kind of girl breaks up with a guy for spending time with his horse?” he mumbled.

Massie closed the closet door and hurried to his side.

“So that’s
really
why she dumped you?” Massie thought of Brownie and felt a loving pinch behind her eyes. “That
is
pretty evil.” She paused to swallow back her emotions. “But Skye ah-dores horses. She would
never
do that to you.”

“Why are you so into helping me?”

“Um…” Massie felt her heart beat in her ears. “Because I live for horses. And, um, horses can sense when we’re sad. Which means Tricky knows you’re sad, and that makes her sad, and
that
makes
me
sad.”

A smile slowly spread across his face.

Massie giggled shyly and took a small step back.

“You really love animals, don’t you?”

She grin-nodded.

He stared.

She lowered her amber eyes.

He continued staring. “Did you know that there are more than three hundred different breeds of horses and ponies on the planet?”

“Yup.” Massie took a step closer. “And there are seven hundred and fifty million horses in the world. I read an article in
Teen Vogue
last year about a horseback-riding camp for handicapped kids.”

“Yeah?” He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“
No
.”
Massie twirled the Tiffany diamond stud in her ear. “That’s the point.”

He raised his left eyebrow in playful confusion.

“I
never
read human-interest news stories in magazines. I go straight to the horoscopes, read the beauty and fashion tips, then look at the pictures.” Massie said with pride. “That’s how much I ah-dore horses.”

Chris placed his hands on her shoulders and looked straight at her. “I would have read it too.”

Was Chris hitting on her? Was she hitting back? What if he lip-kissed her? What if he didn’t? What about Derrington? And
Skye
? Massie’s hard drive was about to crash. There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers. Rarely was there a situation she didn’t know how to handle. But without the wisdom of ESP, hawt boys were to her like Kryptonite was to Superman.

“Um, lemme see your ribbons.” She quickly forced herself out from under his electrifying grip and moved closer to the highly decorated shelf.